any description to be carried in the Park, except the pen, which is mightier than the sword, but no use to anybody in an emergency like mine unless it is a Bear pen. If I turned and ran, she would doubtless follow me and overtake me long before I reached the hotel. In fact, I was sure that I never should reach it, if the Bear followed me. There was nothing left for me to do but to try the power of the human eye. Now, as everyone knows, Bears are near-sighted, and I was almost upon the animal before she saw me. Then she gave a loud "_S-n-o-o-f!_" and ran into the depths of the forest, her Cub so hot upon her trail that he might have stepped on it and torn it. So great was my relief that I laughed aloud, but I could not help wondering what would have happened if the Bear had been more near-sighted than she was. Nature gives the animals what they most desire—the silent wing to the Owl, the keen claws to the Panther, and the soft walk to the Bear. I walked about for some little time, but saw no more Bears. I chronicled the incident in my note-book, immediately, naming the mother "Snoof," and the Cub "Snooflet." I supposed she was one of those who had been widowed by the traps in the forest outside of the Park limits, but inquiry at the hotel assured me that both she and her Cub were well known. I was told, also, that if I wished to see Bears, I must go to the garbage heap, a mile away from the Geyser House. That night, as we sat upon the veranda of the hotel, I regaled Mrs. Kirsten and the little girl with the story of my morning's adventure. The moon was shining brightly, and my fair companion had the immemorial charm of the widow, with the added witchery of moonlight. Together, the combination was a powerful one.

Miranda climbed into my lap and nestled sleepily in the hollow of my arm. "Tell me," said Mrs. Kirsten, in a soft, musical voice, "why are you here?"

"Because you are," I responded, gallantly. "Why are you here?"

"On Miranda's account," she said, shortly. She snatched the sleeping child out of my arms, and in less time than it takes to tell it, she was gone.

I waited nearly three hours, but she did not return, so I went off into the Park a little way to compose my thoughts for the night. In a clearing, four miles from the hotel, I came upon a strange sight. Snoof sat on her haunches, with one arm around her Cub. With her free paw, she was pointing to the heavens, outlining, as I shortly saw, the constellations of Ursa Major and Ursa Minor for her offspring. Reverently removing my hat, I tiptoed away. Truly, maternal devotion has depths far beyond my ken. 

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